


An End to Searching

by yet_intrepid



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Captivity, Gen, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 14:36:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1188822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yet_intrepid/pseuds/yet_intrepid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beleg comes upon the outlaw camp in the dead of night, and lets his heart hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An End to Searching

**Author's Note:**

  * For [megster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/megster/gifts).



He knew they were aware of his presence. He knew that in his efforts to peer into their camp, he had come too close to the firelight. Well, he thought, let that be. He wished to speak to them, after all, but first he would take these few moments to observe. Mayhap this was an end to all his searching, and if it was—if Túrin were among them—then Beleg wished to enter the camp calling out his name. 

But as his hopes rose, he grew less watchful, and by the time he knew that the outlaws were closing in upon him, he was nigh surrounded. They leapt from among the trees, six strong men, and he strove with them, but they knocked him to the forest floor and pinned him by his throat as they removed his weapons.

"Ha!" cried one, running his hands over Beleg’s bow. "An Elf. Did I not say to Neithan that the king of Doriath had sent out spies against us?"

Beleg tried, at that, to take in enough air to speak, but the boot on his throat pressed too heavily. 

"Well, we have caught him now," said another, "and it is we who shall have the information. Come, the sooner he is secured in the camp the sooner we will get our answers."

"Should we not wait to question him?" A younger voice. "Neithan is to return in two days."

Beleg lay very still. “The Wronged” was not a name a mother would give to her child—but then, any number of outlaws might feel reason to adopt it.

The first, who still held the bow, grunted. “I can think of few things that would please Neithan less than the sight of an Elf sitting unharmed in our camp, eating of our supplies. Get him up.”

And as the outlaws pulled him to his feet and hastened him to a convenient tree inside the camp, to bind him to it, Beleg’s heart fixated on the hope that, if this was to be the end of his searching, perhaps Túrin dwelt among gentler men than these.


End file.
